


Prison

by hoosierbitch



Category: White Collar
Genre: Fisting, Gangbang, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Prison, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-21
Updated: 2010-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From this prompt on <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/collarkink/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/collarkink/"></a><b>collarkink</b>: "Neal is way too pretty for prison. Thankfully he doesn't have a cellmate...unfortunately, there's nothing he can do about the prison guards that start to take a special interest in him. Non-con prison guard gang bang that happens for a few months during Neal's first year. Peter finds out about it and is not happy. Set pre-series."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prison

The newest batch of inmates was pretty standard (an assortment of rapists, murderers, and other violent offenders) with one notable exception. Pretty little Neal Caffrey, who had been convicted on forgery charges,  of all things. He probably wouldn't even had been put in the super-max if the FBI hadn't flagged him as an extreme flight risk. He had blue eyes, dark wavy hair, pale skin, and a charming smile that utterly failed to hide his fear.

Smith signaled Johnson over. "Check out the new guy. Third from the end of the line. You got time to bring him to the back room after processing?"

Johnson caught a good look at him and grinned. "I'll let the guys know."

By the time Smith finished up his duties and went back to their hidden little room Johnson had Caffrey stripped and handcuffed over the bench. Neal was positioned facing the door. Smith started stroking himself as soon as he saw the terror shining clear as day in Caffrey's eyes.

"He's trying to bribe me, boss," Johnson told him. "$100,000. Want to see how much you can get out of him?"

"Please," Caffrey said, "I'll pay you whatever you want."

Smith unclipped his night stick from his belt and walked around the bench to press it against Neal's ass. "How much?"

"$200,000."

"You only offered Johnson half that much. Shit. You've hurt his feelings, pretty boy. I think you better apologize to him for that."

"Sorry," Neal stuttered, voice shaking. "I'll give you both two hundred. I swear I'm good for it. Just leave me alone. I won't tell a soul, oh, _fuck_ \- " 

Smith pressed the night stick against Neal's ass until the tip slid in. "You've got no one to tell, kid. You've got no leverage here. No credibility. No deal. Now stop whining. Johnson here's going to fuck your mouth real good while I work on loosening up this cute ass of yours." The kid was skinny, sure, but he had enough flesh on his bones that his ass was nice and round. Smith could see the knobs of his spine and the spread of his ribs, and when he spread Neal's ass cheeks he could see his pink little hole.

"I'll bite it off," Caffrey spit out. "You stick anything in my mouth and I will bite down as hard as I can."

Johnson chuckled and boxed Neal's ears. Then he dug his fingers into Neal's mouth, prying his jaws open. "If you bite me, faggot, I'll knock your teeth out. Then I'll crush your balls, cut up your tiny little dick, and throw you to the other inmates."

"He's done it before," Smith murmured, another inch of the stick sliding in. "They managed to save the guy. Just...not all of him. Fuck, you're a tight little thing. Never met a fag with such a tight ass before."

Johnson started to push his dick into the boy's mouth alongside his fingers. Neal choked around him but didn't bite down. "Good little fag," Johnson praised him, petting his hair. Smith saw the depth Johnson was getting and smiled. His night stick was only a few inches in, but that was okay. He wanted to break the kid in himself anyway.

"Watch out, Johnson--I don't want him to bite you when I stick him."

Johnson pulled out and came around back to watch Smith shove his night stick in one last time (Neal cried out, loudly, which was okay - the walls were thick) and pulled it back out. "Beg me for lube," he said. "Tell me how much you'll pay for lube." Neal was silent, then, and the sound of his quick, panicked breathing filled the room. "$50,000? $100,000? Or do you want me to rip you open?"

"Go to hell," Neal told him. Johnson punished him for his infraction with a solid strike with the night stick across the shoulders.

"Little shit's got some spirit, huh? Fine. I won't make you pay me. All you have to do it ask for it." Neal said nothing. "Oh, you like it rough, pretty boy?" He pushed his middle finger all the way into him and Neal squirmed underneath him. "You like the way that feels?"

"Stop. Please." Smith added another finger. It didn't go in easily, though, the nightstick having barely loosened him up at all. "Please use lube."

"Now that wasn't hard at all, was it?" Smith withdrew his fingers, put some lotion on the night stick, and stuck it back in, twisting it around until Neal cried for him to stop. "Like churning butter," he instructed Johnson as Neal pleaded with him, offering him money and expensive art and anything else he wanted. What Smith wanted was to fuck his tight ass.

He wiped some more of the lotion onto his dick and carefully pushed the head in. "Fuck!" He exclaimed. "You gotta relax, kid." He fucked Neal slowly at first. He was so tight there wasn't a whole lot of choice. "How the hell is a fag like you so tight? Your boyfriend got a tiny dick, or what?"

"Gonna fuck his mouth again," Johnson said, and they both chuckled at Neal's helpless little sob.

They took their time. There was no hurry--the inmates were all tucked away for the night and the supervisor was happily bribed in exchange for his silence. Smith fucked the boy's ass slowly, savoring the experience. From the way the forger practically danced on the end of his dick he'd be surprised if he wasn't a virgin. He sure looked like a fag, though. Skinny, pretty, soft. Long, delicate fingers, reaching out like he thought he'd be able to pick the locks on his handcuffs with no tools. He struggles were futile, more amusing than worrying. He threatened and offered bribes with his silver conman tongue, but they had heard those promises before. And what they wanted most from him they were already taking.

They fucked him from both ends until Johnson ran out of stamina and came all over his face. "Get used to that uniform," he taunted. "You're going to be wearing my cum for - what was his sentence, Sam?"

"Four years, if I remember correctly," Smith answered. "But don't worry, pretty. Your FBI agent gave us special instructions about how to treat you. Said that we should take extra special care of you." He came with a groan and Neal fought to get away when he felt the warmth of Smith's come spreading inside him. "Now suck me until I'm hard again."

About half an hour later Frank burst in with a laugh. They'd both finished and Smith was resting while Johnson tried to figure out how far he could get his nightstick down Neal's throat. The boy was gagging almost constantly but he was already taking a few more inches than he had been earlier. "Y'all started without me! Where are your manners?" Frank unzipped quickly and briefly fingered Neal's ass before thrusting in. "Damn, that feels good. Get ready for a big load, kid, the missus has been out of town all week. Been dying for this. Jesus, but he's tight!"

"And that's after he took both of us. Smith twice," Johnson informed him.

"Yeah, I can tell - he's dripping wet. Like a cunt. You like it when Daddy fucks your tight little pussy? You like the way this feels?" Frank liked to talk dirty to them. Called them names, called them girls or fags, called himself their Daddy. It wasn't Smith's style, but he was hardly going to complain. Not when Caffrey blushed so prettily, not when he couldn't tell whether the new tears spilling out of Caffrey's brilliant blue eyes were due to the pain or to the humiliation.

"How's his mouth?"

"Like a dream. He's so hungry for it." Johnson decided to give Neal's throat a rest, taking out the nightstick and replacing it with his cock.

"You like taking it at both ends, don't you baby?" Frank was at it again. "You like being used like the cheap slut you are? I think we found ourselves a keeper, boys."

*

By the end of the month word had spread and more and more guards were showing up to get a part of the sweet piece of ass from cell block A. Neal had stopped threatening to report them after he filed his first complaint and spent the following week starving in solitary. He'd become almost perfectly submissive. Smith seemed to be the only one who suspected that there was more than met the eye with Neal Caffrey. Smith had read his file. Caffrey was too smart, too sneaky, he'd got himself out of one too many impossible situations for Smith to take him lightly. From the way Agent Burke described him, he was a cross between Batman and Gene Kelley. Smith seemed to be the only one who'd looked past the pretty face to see the intelligence burning cold in his eyes.

"This doesn't mean we're gay. You know that, don't you, you little faggot," spat Nathan, a burly medic whose experience often came in handy after these visits. Neal was struggling beneath him, his body writhing in a sick parody of pleasure. "But you sure are liking all this attention, aren't you? You enjoying this, you sick little fuck?" Neal was hard. He wasn't enjoying it (I'm not, he'd insisted before they'd told him to stop talking, I'm not), but the constant pressure on his prostate caused an involuntary reaction. Nathan started jerking him off while he fucked him and they all laughed when he came.

By the time the fifth man stepped back, Neal was limp and wasted. He didn't even have the strength to protest when Smith put his thumbs into Neal's swollen hole and pulled it open as far as he could. Johnson laughed at the view and scooped out the mess of cum from inside Neal's ass, pouring it into Neal's mouth. Neal struggled, then, but Johnson just clamped his hand over his mouth and pinched his nose shut. "It's rude to spit out your food," he taunted. "So drink up your present like a good boy. There you go. Drink it all up."

Neal fought until he almost passed out from lack of oxygen but eventually had to give in and he swallowed it all down. The crowd around him was cleaning up, getting ready to go back to work. Some of them kissed Neal on their way out the door - like he was a housewife who'd be eagerly awaiting their return. They left him there, cuffed to the bench, his lips still tinged blue.

By the end of his first month in prison Neal lost count of the number of men who'd fucked him.

*

On Christmas, after an early morning visit from his girlfriend, they'd stuck a red bow on Neal and kept him in the storage room all day for easy access. It was an apology of sorts to the guards who couldn't be with their families, and a present for who those didn't have family to go home to. Smith stopped in a bit after noon. Neal was on the floor in the corner. He was trussed up with cuffs on his wrists and ankles and a third pair attached to the chains of the other two, keeping his body bowed tightly backwards. Smith tsked in disappointment. "I'm sorry they left you all by yourself, kid. I know it's hard to be alone during the holidays." He settled on the floor next to Neal and laughed when he saw the scraps of orange fabric stuffed in his mouth. "Were you being too loud again?"

There was plenty of cum already drying on his face and even more dripping out of his hole. Smith made himself comfortable and then stretched Neal's hole until he cried. "You're so loose now," Smith mused, "I think I could probably fit my fist up your ass." He took the cloth out of Neal's mouth. "Ask me to fist you."

"Please," Neal said tiredly. "I want you to put your fist inside of me." His voice was just a little too smooth, just a little too fake. Smith felt like he was being played. And that made him feel angry.

"Saw your girlfriend this morning," he said as he shoved four fingers into Neal's ass and slowly squeezing his pinky finger in with the rest. "She ever do this to you? Ever hold you down and find out how much you liked it?" When he tried to fit his thumb in, too, Neal whimpered and the muscles of his hole refused to stretch any further.

"Leave her out of this," Neal whispered.

Smith pushed harder, Neal's whole body spasmed, and he was in up to his wrist. "You think she matters? You think she's going to want you after this?" Smith's mouth twisted in an smile as he made a fist inside of Neal, forcing his body to take more of him than it was ever meant to. Then he pushing in a little bit further. "You're all used up, Caffrey. You're a used up, dirty little whore. Who in their right mind is going to want you now?"

Neal's voice was far from cool when he started begging again. "I will do whatever you want if you leave her out of this. Don't take her from me. Please." Smith twisted his hand to the side, drummed his fingers against Neal's prostate, and thought: I could break him with this. The realization didn't make him feel powerful. It made him feel petty, and cruel. After Neal came, offering himself entirely to Smith in exchange for something he never should have had to ask for, Smith pulled his fist back out and agreed to leave Kate alone.

*

If Neal Caffrey was Batman, then Peter Burke was Captain America. He stormed the prison with an army of suits behind him, all of them waving papers and headed straight for Neal Caffrey's cell. They learned soon enough that Neal Caffrey wasn't there. Agent Burke bellowed for an immediate lockdown and was in the midst of organizing search teams when Smith spoke up. "He's in the laundry room. There's a small storage room that's connected to it - the door's to the right of the washers." He held up his key.

Agent Burke hauled Smith along with him on his way to find his pet convict. "If you touched one hair on his head," Peter yelled as they ran down the hallway. "I swear to god I will see you locked up for life."

Smith was the one who unlocked and opened the door. Neal was on the floor by the bench, so beaten down by that point that they hadn't even bothered to cuff him. There were taser burns on his chest, rings of bruises around his wrists, ankles, hips and neck. Scabbed-over bite marks decorated his shoulders. Burke walked in slowly, knelt on the floor next to him, and gently brushed Neal's errant bangs off of his forehead.

Neal blinked slowly up at him. "Happy birthday," he said in a raspy voice.

"I got your card," Peter replied.

"I knew you would," Neal said. "I knew you'd chase me down again."

Samuel Smith had always known that he was a bad man. He didn't allow himself any illusions about that. But when Peter Burke walked out of the room with Neal Caffrey in his arms he'd looked Smith right in the eye, with tears and fury in his glare.

Burke held Caffrey like he was worth saving, cherishing, rescuing. Smith thought about the desperate intelligence in Neal's eyes (his voice crying please) the way he'd given up weeks before. Smith watched Neal being carried away and thought that both of them were going to get what they deserved.

*

When he woke up Peter Burke was sitting at his bedside, and Neal was surprised to find that he wasn't handcuffed to the railings. Peter's suit was wrinkled (but at least it wasn't the same suit he'd worn the first time he'd caught Neal. Hopefully he'd come to his senses and burned it). He looked tired. "Hey," Neal said quietly, because he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to stay awake before whatever drugs they were giving him lulled him back to sleep, and he needed to know what was going on. He was currently floating high, with only distant aches in those parts of him that had hurt so badly for so long. "I knew they were lying," he continued when Peter woke up with a comic snort that made Neal laugh.

Burke didn't laugh with him, though. Instead he reached a hand out and felt Neal's forehead. "How you feeling, kid?" Neal twitched at the casual endearment (_so good, kid, so hungry for me_). Peter frowned and removed his hand. "You want me to call the doctor?"

"No," Neal assured him. "I'm fine. Really."

Peter looked doubtful, but eventually sat back down. "Who was lying about what?" He asked, rubbing sleep out of the corners of his eyes.

"They - Smith and Johnson and the rest. They said that you'd told them to 'take care of me'. I knew they had to be making it up. You wouldn't do that."

"Well, they weren't exactly lying, Neal. I just hadn't meant the comment in jest. I'd thought that maybe the warden would keep an eye on you, make sure you were okay."

Neal broke out into his brightest smile. "You're one of a kind, Mr. Burke," he replied. "You brought the card I made you," he observed, nodding to the hand drawn birthday card propped up on the bedside table.

"Yeah. It's quite a piece of work. I can't believe you thought I'd notice the hesitation marks and figure out that they were Morse code."

"You're a smart man. I had faith."

"Neal. I can't tell you how sorry I am that I didn't notice it on the first card you sent. I'm - I'm so sorry for everything that happened to you. I should have figured it out sooner."

"It wasn't your fault."

They'd never talked like this before. When Peter had been chasing him every exchange had been like flirting, every conversation a competition. He knew Peter liked him (Peter fell a bit in love with everyone he chased, Neal had realized early on. Peter liked smart. Peter liked Neal).

Neal hoped that maybe, if he asked, Peter would start sending him cards back. It would help to keep him company during the next three long years. "Do you know how long I get to stay in the hospital?"

"What?" Peter asked him, confused.

"Did they tell you how long I have before they transfer me to the prison hospital?"

Peter's jaw tightened and he took a few seconds to control himself before he spoke again. "You aren't going to go back to prison, Neal."

"What? Why - where am I going? Are you - you aren't - Peter, are they letting me go?" He wouldn't let himself hope, not until he heard it from Peter.

"I can't promise not to chase you if your work comes across my desk again, but, yes. You're free. You can go wherever you want. They nullified the remainder of your sentence. What happened to you was unforgivable, and the government of the United States is very sorry."

Neal shook his head. Shook his head until Peter started petting his forehead again, stroking his hair, telling him it would all be okay. Held his hand (no handcuffs, he could run - as soon as his body would let him, he'd be free) and he cried until the grief and relief faded, too, and he started to sink back into the painkiller's embrace and the soft comfort of Peter's voice. 

"Did they send you here to talk me down?"

"Yes," Peter said with a harsh smile. "They're afraid you'll want to sue. So I am absolutely not supposed to tell you that there is a very nice, very experienced lawyer named Harold Shear who I've spoken to and is very eager to talk to you about your legal options."

"Thank you," Neal told him. "I owe you a lot." He blinked lazily and looked at his hand, still held in Peter's. "Maybe when I get out of here, you'll let me take you out to dinner."

Peter gave him a goofy smile. "You can meet my wife! She's been wanting to meet you for years."

"I'm looking forward to it," Neal said, and with one last look at Peter (who knew him, saved him, would protect him) let the morphine take him back to sleep.


End file.
